


Lightning in a Bottle

by burnthiscityxx



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3467438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnthiscityxx/pseuds/burnthiscityxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Harry and Taylor unexpectedly find each other one night.</p>
<p>"Throw our hearts in the air..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lightning in a Bottle

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe I was listening to 'Lightning in a Bottle' by The Summer Set too much. Maybe.

  
_Out in the wild_   
_Party in nowhere land..._   


She’s not really into huge, underground parties. If she’s being honest, they’re always filled with people who think they’re invincible – as if the atmosphere lets them be completely uninhibited, with zero consequences. It’s irresponsible and with a self-professed fear of getting in trouble, Taylor usually avoids parties like this at all costs.

Which is why it’s strange that she ends up in an unmarked club, fingers wrapped around a beer bottle, head pounding from the music that pulses through the room.

It’s an after-party for someone’s concert and her friends are nowhere to be found, disappearing the minute everybody had a drink in hand and Taylor’s starting to get really self-conscious. She’s fine at parties on her own, but it’s starting to get really rowdy and honestly, she just wants to go home and sleep. It’s been a long week of TV appearances and red carpet events and interviews and she’s pretty sure she just saw a party-goer pop something into another person’s drink…and yeah, she needs to leave.

Five minutes later, Taylor finds herself leaning against someone’s vintage sports car in the back alley, her face to the sky, trying to count the stars. It’s a miracle nobody’s spotted her or followed her and the pulsing music that made her head hurt is dulled and as she takes another deep breath. She wonders how long she can hide out in plain sight and then her brain starts to do the thing – the thing where she thinks that maybe there’s still time for adventure – maybe the night isn’t lost yet. The epiphany immediately conjures up lyrics and they start spilling into her thoughts – paintbrush strokes of night sky and glittering starry blankets and the thirst and hunger for something more – it prompts her to fumble for her iPhone, desperate to catch it all down.

But just as she opens the small device, someone clears their throat and just like that – the images and lyrics fade.

Annoyed, Taylor sighs, tucking the phone back into her clutch and turning her head to see who it is.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt – but you’re sort of in my way.”

His voice is deep, husky, and unbearably sexy. It’s the kind of voice that poems are written about and even though she’s a little pissed off that he’s ruined her concentration, she can’t very well ignore him.

“Hi, Taylor,” he grins when she turns around, the corner of his mouth curled upwards in this lopsided smirk. Her name falls from his lips, sounding like wind chimes in his British accent.

Harry Styles.

Of course she knows him and he knows her. It isn’t like they’ve never crossed paths before – at award shows and events, even posed on the red carpet that one time as friends. And that’s what they’ve always been, just acquaintances, friends, two ships passing in the night. Not that she thinks it could be something more, not when she’s at the pinnacle of her career and he’s notorious for the models hanging off his arms, not when their worlds are so intertwined and so far apart at the same time.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, already wanting to take it back. She’s snippy and demanding and she tells herself it’s because he ruined her train of thought – that if he hadn’t shown up, she could’ve had the beginnings of a song written.

“Niall and Liam wanted to sneak out of the hotel,” he shrugs, hair falling into his face. Taylor cocks her head, studies him for a minute – there’s no doubt he’s handsome, but it’s the eyes that get to her. It’s something about that shade of green, regardless of whether they’re sparkling from the flash of bright lights or simmering with moonlight, like now. It stirs something in her, a flicker of hope, deep in her chest.

Maybe it isn’t time to give up on tonight just yet.

* * *

_No phones let go_   
_Cut all the strings tonight..._

They stop at a cliff, secluded and away from the party, with the entire city laid out in front of them. She doesn’t know how he knows this place, doesn’t wonder if he’s taken other girls here before, just takes a deep breath and lets the night air wash over – it’s surreal, being here, and even more surreal that she’s here with Harry Styles, one-fifth of the world’s biggest band.

“This is like, the biggest cliché in the world,” she points out with a giggle, shuffling her feet against the dirt road. He shrugs and gives her a lazy smile, producing a bottle of whiskey and taking a sip, before offering it to her. Taylor’s not the biggest drinker in the world, but she takes a sip anyway, wincing as the liquor burns down her throat.

“It’s good material, though, innit?” he asks. She turns to look at him, eyes bright with surprise. A small part of her should be offended or worried that he thinks this whole adventure is just so she has something to write about. But something tells her that’s not what he means.

“You interrupted me,” she throws it out in the open air accusingly and he turns to look at her with a smirk on his lips. “Outside the party, I mean. I was in the middle of writing a song,” she explains with a small pout. He chuckles, as if it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard and offers her a half-sincere apology.

And suddenly, Taylor’s struck with the realization that for the second time tonight, she’s hiding out in plain sight. That this is probably the most secluded they’ll ever be – no paparazzi, no media, no fans, no prying eyes. And although she probably would’ve enjoyed it on her own, she can’t help but glance over at the figure on the hood of a vintage sports car. All long limbs and floppy hair, Taylor tries to sort out the reason why his laugh makes her warm all over, why his sparkling green eyes make her want to bury her face in his neck and maybe it’s where they are, maybe it’s the night sky, maybe it’s just Harry…

_Whoa._

Her thoughts are interrupted by a shrill sound and she pops her head into the car to check her phone – her battery is dead. With a satisfied smile, she shows it to Harry, who immediately checks his own phone.

“Dead, as well. Looks like we’re on our own,” he mutters, a hint of a smirk on his lips. She knows he’s giddy with excitement because she is, too. Their security, their friends, their managers…they’re probably all freaking out. And for once, it feels good to rebel a little.

“This is a first,” she smiles, takes another pull of whiskey – longer this time, so she can feel it warm every corner of her body. Clumsily, she hops up onto the hood of his car, leaning back on her elbows and lifting her face to the sky. He’s watching her and it makes her come alive. Dropping her head to her shoulder, Harry’s face is only a few inches away from her own and she can see the detailed curve of his mouth, the delicate curl of his hair and it feels like hours stretch between them – neither one willing to make the first move.

* * *

_We're making out,_   
_Life's never felt so good._   
_Bring on the storm_   
_We're wilin' out tonight..._

Ten minutes later, Taylor can’t catch her breath, her concentration lost, as Harry’s lips work against her jawline and neck.She doesn’t know how it happened – one minute they’re all awkward conversations, the next minute they’re making out in the very small, very cramped backseat of his car. She knows it could end badly and it could all leak to the tabloids tomorrow, but she doesn’t want to think about it. All she wants to think about is the way Harry’s hands grip her waist, how his breath ghosts over her skin, how he smells like cologne and whiskey, how he seems to be everywhere and still not close enough, all at the same time.

It’s the most Taylor’s ever felt in months.

When he pulls away suddenly, props his arm against the backseat, out of breath and licking his lips, she almost loses it, she really does. “We shouldn’t…this is probably a bad idea,” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair.

She nods, reaches up and clasps her fingers with his, tugging him back down so that his lips graze hers softly. She’s effectively ignoring his suggestion and he chuckles against her lips.

“Just…shut up,” she whispers, lifting her head to meet his collarbone. Just as she’s about to push his shirt down from his shoulders, thunder rumbles the car, startling her. She squeals and Harry loses his balance, nearly flattening her underneath him and soon enough, they’re both in fits of laughter.

“Think it was a sign?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think our publicists got together and just pissed off Mother Nature,” she jokes, her face pressed to the window. There’s no one around for miles, their phones are dead, and the rain is starting to come down hard now, pelting against the small car. If this were any other night with any other person, she knows it’s about time to start freaking out. Instead, she feels Harry’s finger gently trace her shoulder and she turns, scooting closer to lean against his chest.

“You know what? We barely know each other,” she points out, suddenly aware of how random this whole night is. Despite their mutual friends, they’re merely acquaintances - friendly on the red carpet and small talks inside award shows, but they’ve never hung out properly. They’ve never been to each other’s houses, never met each other’s families, never worked together.

So it’s a relief when Harry leans down, kisses her ear, and rests his chin on her head. “You’re right. But who cares? Right now there’s you, me, a bottle of whiskey, and the rain,”

Taylor smiles, because his words make the control freak in her melt away and it’s soothing, listening to his breathing, listening to his voice…just listening. They fall into a comfortable silence after a while and his curls tickle her cheek, while she traces the tattoos on his arm, stopping every so often to ask him about stories, about other girls, about life in a boyband. He answers and asks her about the cats, her writing process, about life as a global superstar. Slowly, but surely, they get to know each other and Taylor realizes – as he whispers into her ear – that even though this isn’t how she imagined her night to pan out, learning Harry Styles is an adventure she can’t refuse.

* * *

_Back of the car,_   
_Blankets and me and you_   
_We're running on perfectly wasted youth._   
_I'll hold you close,_   
_We'll call this home tonight._

_And the fake tattoo that you drew on my arm_   
_Had an X and an O_   
_Never change who you are..._

The clock on the radio reads 2.00 AM and they’re wide awake. The rain turned into a torrential downpour a half hour ago and hasn’t stopped, so they’ve been rationing whiskey, packs of gum found in the glove compartment, and each other – it isn’t normal and it isn’t perfect, but she can’t think of a better way to spend her night.

_Happenstance. Serendipity._

Those are the words that come into her thoughts, filtering through all the doubt in her mind. Shifting against Harry’s bare chest (he took off his shirt a while ago), Taylor reaches down and finds a marker on the floor, tapping it against her chin in thought.

“You thinking of lyrics?” he asks. Taylor shakes her head, an idea quickly forming, as she awkwardly turns her body so she’s facedown against Harry’s chest. She traces the sparrow tattoos with her fingers, runs her nails across the butterfly design across his torso, presses her lips to the leaves that are inked on his hips. She hears Harry take in a sharp breath and she smiles, rests her head against him, breathing him in – there’s cologne, sweat, whiskey, mint gum, and a faint hint of cigarette smoke left behind by Liam.

“Have you ever drawn your own tattoo?” she wonders.

“No. Would much rather have a professional do it – I’m rubbish at drawing,” he chuckles, brushing away her hair from her face. His touch is delicate, soft and gentle against her forehead and she turns to kiss his palm quickly.

“Can I give you a tattoo?”

He nods, points out a clear space on his arm and she yields the marker against his skin. He laughs, claiming it’s ticklish and she shushes him, until she finally proclaims that she’s done. Amid the rain pouring against the small car, Harry looks down and bursts out laughing at Taylor’s doodles on his arm – a field of flowers and a mess of Xs and Os and a smiley face. She kisses each one, before shifting up to kiss him on the lips.

* * *

_Then you lost your shoes as it started to rain_   
_And your jeans soaked through_   
_But you smiled anyway_   
_Throw our hearts in the air_   
_Hearts in the air_   
_Hearts in the air..._

An hour later, it’s Taylor that decides they should probably head back. They’ve been cooped up in a sports car, the rain isn’t letting up, and she’s starving. So they climb awkwardly to the front, Harry revving the engine and making his way back down into the city. There’s something about the way Los Angeles looks when it’s raining, like liquid confetti spraying over the low buildings and when Harry pulls the car into Taylor’s neighbourhood, she doesn’t think about how he knows where she lives – after the night they’ve had together, she can’t expect or predict anything.

“Do you want to come in?” she asks sheepishly, the sudden realization that the night is about to end washing over her. This is ridiculous. Their paths were never supposed to cross and when they did, the paths were never supposed to end up in the backseat of his car, all tangled limbs and whispers.

“Yeah,” he says, a little breathlessly, but that just might be her imagination. Then again, when she looks at him, his hair all mussed and lips pink from kissing and the faint smear of red lipstick across his neck – she knows he’s finding all this just as strange and wonderful as she is. He’s in too deep now, can’t and doesn’t want to back out now.

“It’s raining cats and dogs,” she remarks, shivering slightly as she rolls down the window an inch, just so she can smell the rain.

“This? This is child’s play, Swift,” he chuckles, reaching into the backseat to pull out the jacket he’d been wearing, only to drape it over her shoulders.

“What about you?” she asks, glancing up and down at his black button-down, half done.

“I’m English,” Harry shrugs, as if it’s a valid explanation. He raises his eyebrows at her like he’s proposing a challenge and Taylor smirks, fingers poised on the car door handle, ready to make a run for the house.

_3…2…1…_

They both stumble out of the car - neither one as graceful as they thought they’d be – and they half run, half slip and slide towards her front door. Harry’s screaming at the top of his lungs and Taylor’s laughing so hard she can barely breathe, stopping for a few seconds to yank her foot out of her strappy heels. She can hear his laugh, feels it in the depths of her stomach, and she lets herself think it:

If this is it, if this is what it means to be crazy, stupid, happy – hobbling on one foot, soaked to the bone, a too-big blazer over her shoulders, and a boy with bright green eyes waiting for her – then she’ll take this kind of happy.

“Did you lose your shoe?” he snickers, hands on his hips, commanding the front porch with his frame.

“It got stuck in the damn driveway,” she shrugs, fumbling to find the what she needs in her pocket. Shaking from the rain, she can’t seem to get a grip on her keys, cusses when she can’t put it in the lock the right way. Behind her, Harry pushes aside her wet hair, flutters his lips against her bare skin and she can’t concentrate – he _knows_ she can’t – so when they finally make it inside the house, it takes her the quickest second to remember to lock the door.

And then it’s back to learning Harry Styles, all over again; back to believing and taking a chance on an unexpected night, back to bright green eyes and tattoos and lightning flashes, back to empty roads and sparkling night skies.

The lyrics practically write themselves.

_We're catching lightning in a bottle._   
_Don't give a fuck about tomorrow._   
_Yeah we're dancing in the backseat,_   
_We don't need gravity here in the afterglow._   
_Yeah we're rolling with the thunder._   
_Now take a breath, we're going under._   
_We're getting busy on the backstreets,_   
_We don't need gravity here in the afterglow..._


End file.
